


a list, a truth, and red red hair

by timbernya



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: F/F, Miu is a human wreck, NDRV3 Spoilers, angie doesn't even appear she's just talked about, fuck dude idk what this even is, implied csa, it's 4 am, just call it stream of consciousness bullshit ft. miu, specifically spoilers for deaths in chapters 1-3, uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 12:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12959058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timbernya/pseuds/timbernya
Summary: In a horrible situation like a killing game, the fear and stress can wrench up things you worked so hard to push down.





	a list, a truth, and red red hair

Miu Iruma keeps a list in her mind. It's a list that's longer than she'd like, a list she wishes she could erase points from and never remember them again. A list she wants to crumple, tear, burn, and crush until even the scraps can't be recognized. But she can't do that, because it's not written on paper. It's not anything she could ever write on paper -- because if she did, that would make it real. And she doesn't want it to be real. As long as it remains just in her head, she can keep on telling herself that she's just being stupid, that there's never been anything to worry about. 

Even if she knows that's not true. 

Miu is loud and emotional. She knows that. Everyone knows that. Her gross, disgusting mouth is constantly spewing profanities and insults. She knows by now that this isn't the way to act. The backlash she gets each and every time has burned that knowledge into her head -- and yet, she keeps doing it. She doesn't know why. She keeps on making her comments and amusing only herself. How else is she supposed to behave? It's natural to her. She doesn't - she can't - understand why the others don't see it the way she does. She doesn't know why they get so frustrated with her constantly talking about sex. She doesn't know why she can't figure out a better way to act. Her behavior is normal, she tells herself. 

Even if she knows that's not true. 

Miu is a goddamn fucking genius. She's amazing, intelligent, beautiful, sexy -- what's not to love? She's got a perfect body and a perfect mind. She can make anything anyone could ever want, give anyone anything they could ever want, she's the whole package. People should fucking love her -- she wants people to fucking love her. It's why she paraded around like she's the best thing since sliced bread, bragging about how great she is. If she does that enough, says that enough, does things for people enough, maybe they'll stop hating her. Maybe she can stop feeling so far away even when she's included. She just has to keep saying it. Saying things makes them real. 

She knows that that's true, but it never seems to work. 

Miu has her days. Those days where she's even more lewd than usual for no discernible reason. She cackles and snorts like a crazed animal as she spews off gross jokes as they come to her. Saihara laughs awkwardly, musing that Miu must be having one of her "moments". She laughs and keeps on going, until it's late into the night and it's time to disperse to bed. She lays awake that night. Her amusement and hormones keep her up at first, but she soon feels it slowly melt into a pained emptiness, a vague distress that crawls around her but won't even give her the satisfaction of pushing her to crying. She lays there and lets it happen. She goes over her list again. 

She wants a different truth. 

She thinks about all the different pairs of arms she's curled up in. Arms belonging to people that would always turn away. Arms of people she forced herself to love, of people she barely knew, of people she could never understand, of people who couldn't love her, of people who loved others far more. Miu had friends sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. It was something she was proud of. But love was a different matter entirely. She grasps desperately for it like it would save her from drowning -- and maybe it would. Maybe she would get to be cradled by a pair of arms that weren't attached to someone who would inevitably leave with another excuse. Everyone always left -- and the people that stayed stayed out of pity. She knows that. 

She hates, hates, hates that it's true. 

The killing game makes her sick to her fucking stomach. She doesn't want to die. Not here. She's thought about it before but if she's going to die it's going to be on her own terms and not by one of the useless fucking virgins here (a pang in her mind tells her it would be better if she was nicer but she can't not here what if she dies) that all parade around like they're the height of morality when they reject the killing game. She knows deep down inside someone will start it but she won't let herself be the one who gets shanked. She stays in her lab whenever possible. When she's not in her lab, she makes sure she's in a group. She doesn't want to be alone with anyone, god forbid they kill her. 

She curls up in bed, pulling the sheets tightly around her. She's so so acutely aware of her own body and she wishes that she wasn't. This damn killing game brings out all the emotions she's tried to beat the hell down. She feels so hot, but so cold, and she considers shuffling out of her nightgown but she knows if she does she'll feel ghosting hands and think about cooing words that already echo in her head. She closes her eyes tight. She doesn't want to die here. But she doesn't want to live if it's going to drag up all her fears. At some point she stops fearing a knife to the stomach and starts fearing a red-haired figure she knows isn't anywhere in the Academy. But her mind keeps telling her that they're there somewhere.

Why can't she convince herself that's her mind lying to her? 

She doesn't know why she thinks about it so much. She's in a fucking killing game, she has more things to worry about. But it worms into her mind at the worst possible times and makes her want to be the next victim if only she can stop having these feelings. She's so scared, and she's even more so because she can feel a pounding in her chest more often. Angie. That stupid flat-chested stripper-looking bitch invaded Miu's thoughts and gave her the same throb in her chest all those previous people did. She squeezes her eyes shut when she sees Angie walk by. Not this time. Not this time. She won't make a mistake. She won't have another person lurking in the shadows. Red hair is bad enough, she doesn't need to add white hair to the images her mind concocts. 

She has a nightmare the night after Hoshi and Toujou are killed. She's laying in her bed-- no, not her bed at the Academy. The large, two-person bed in her home's spare room. Her blood runs cold as she feels hands run over her body, only protected by a papery nightgown that is easily tugged away. She doesn't want to look but she knows she has to. She hears words she's heard before, things she wishes could be whisked away like the bodies of her classmates. She doesn't look for a long while, but she doesn't resist. She doesn't want a single bit of this, but she doesn't resist. 

It's not like she ever knew what she wanted, anyways. 

She finally turns with big, blue eyes when a pair of skinny hands pin hers above her head like some shitty porn manga. She expects greasy red hair. 

She sees hair that's smooth and white. 

Miu wakes with a start, and she immediately rips her blankets off and looks down at herself. A t-shirt and shorts. No papery nightgown. No hands holding hers down. No red hair. No white hair. She's alone. No one is there to hurt her but her own thoughts. She collapses back down onto the bed and hides her head in her hands. Angie, Angie, Angie. She hates Angie. She's so fucking weird. She's always smiling and babbling about her God and acting like a goddamn wackjob, but she's never said a mean word to Miu. She's a bit shallow and passive-aggressive, but she's also gentle and sweet. It's so strange. Miu finds herself wanting to spend more time around her, and she hates that. She refuses. She won't let that fucking nightmare come true. Because if it doesn't end with white hair stalking her through the halls, it will end with her never seeing white hair again. 

And that could mean a lot of things in this shitty, shitty Academy. 

Miu wants to cry. But she doesn't. There's an ache in her throat that threatens to come out as a scream if she doesn't control herself, but she doesn't cry. Miu Iruma doesn't cry. She's had involuntary tears at good jokes, but tears of sadness haven't come to her in a long time. And they don't come now. Not as she stares at the body of Angie Yonaga, her limbs tangled in a position that is too lax to belong to any living person. She just shakes her head and returns to the corner of the lab, waiting to get the Monokuma File and be done with all this shit. She forces her mind back into its normal mode. She ignores the lingering, vague sadness and discomfort wrapping around her. It could at least give her the satisfaction of allowing her to cry. But it doesn't. 

It never does. 

Miu doesn't even know why this makes her so upset. She barely knew Angie, and she was bordering on cultist by the end of things. Not like Miu isn't used to making bad decisions, anyways. Still, though, it hurts somewhere deep within her to hear the murder discussed at the trial. It feels so distant. So detached. Like Angie was never really one of them. Miu wonders if they'll talk about her like that if her time comes. 

She still hopes that time never comes. 

The trial ends, and Miu has a headache. Two people died -- no, three, counting Shinguuji. Four? She has no idea what was going on with him near the end, and she doesn't think she ever wants to know. She thinks about all the people who have died so far - Amami, Akamatsu, Hoshi, Toujou, Angie, Chabashira, Shinguuji. She scarcely knew any of them. She never even tried. She just made snide comments and acted like a jackass, because how else was she supposed to act? It's a part of her now, but a part she wishes she could tear out and stomp into the ground one day, just like she wants to stomp on that list. She wonders if Angie could be added to it. She doesn't know if she wishes she could have been or not. Her everything hurts. She makes one last rude remark to her classmates before strutting off to bed with a cocky flourish of her hair. 

She dreams of greasy red hair, and distant smooth white hair that can't protect her, even if she wanted to.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhmhmmmmm fuck dudes srry if this is bad or ooc or whatever it's honestly just a bunch of word vomit stream of consciousness I apologize tht it's probably rlly disjointed   
> also no teh red hair isnt supposed 2 reference any other canon character


End file.
